“Alright, I
feel like we should be very clear about the fact that you are my least favorite
friend.” Everything I’m saying comes out all at once, in one big, breathless
rush, because this goddamn couch must
weigh at least a ton, and I’m the one who’s really supporting most of the
weight.

Alex rolls
his eyes at me and kicks the apartment door back open. “You don’t have many
friends anyway, so it’s not like I’m that far down the list. And hey, we made
it up the stairs, so we’re already past the hardest part. Can you just shift
like, six inches back? I’m having trouble bringing the front end around.”

“How wide
do you think this hallway is?” I demand as I somehow wind up wedged between the
end of the couch and the wall. For that, Alex jams the couch a little harder
into my ribs, and we eventually manage to force our way through the front door.
Getting through the foyer is just as difficult, but once we’ve cleared that,
getting into the living room is easy. Once everything is properly positioned
against the wall, I collapse on the couch, spreading out and burying my face in
the cushions. “Couldn’t you have asked someone else to help you move in?”

“Like who?”
Alex snorts. “Ben?”

“Uh, yeah, considering he’s the one who’s
actually going to be living here with you,” I say. As soon as the words have
left my mouth, I wish I hadn’t said anything. Now all I can picture is Ben and
Alex hanging out in their new apartment, Ben and Alex curling up in front of
their incredibly cool fireplace to do their homework together, Ben and Alex
eating dinner every night like an old married couple, Ben and Alex realizing
they’re meant to be together, getting married with me as Ben’s best man, and
eventually adopting some too-cute baby from a third-world country.

Alex
sprawls out on the armchair across from me. “No offense to him, but he wouldn’t
exactly have been much help. I doubt he could even lift half the boxes that
needed to be brought up. It was a lot easier to just put him on grocery and
school supply detail.”

“Ugh,
please don’t remind me that the new school-year starts soon. I’ve got what,
three weeks left of break?” I grumble.

“Something
like that, yeah. But at least you’re a senior now. Finally,” he replies. After
a moment in which I can feel him watching at me, trying to preemptively gauge my
reaction, he adds, “You know what Garen’s plans are for the year? He was
technically expelled from Lakewood High, so—”

“No idea,”
I interrupt. “I haven’t talked to him since you guys pretty much blackmailed me
into visiting him last week, and obviously Bill’s not living with us anymore,
so… I’m not sure. I think he might just repeat his senior year at LHS, because
going back to Patton would probably be a disaster. It’s not like it would be
difficult for him to get drugs there.”

I groan in
protest but roll off the couch anyway and follow him out to the kitchen. There
are at least half a dozen boxes, each one full of dishes, cutlery, pots, or
pans. Alex shrugs and nudges one of the boxes with the toe of his sneaker. “I
guess you can just start putting these in the cabinets under the counters. I
still need to set up the television and everything, so if you need me for
anything, just yell.”

Putting the
dishes away winds up being more of a process than I’d anticipated. The
apartment has been vacant for so long that a thin layer of grime has coated the
inside of the cabinets. I may not be thrilled with the idea of Ben and Alex
shacking up together just because they happen to have chosen colleges in the
same city, but that doesn’t mean I want to make them eat off of dirty dishes; I
sit down on the floor with a sponge and a bottle of spray cleaner, then set to
work on scrubbing down all of the shelves.

By the time
I’m even halfway done, my arm is cramping up, and I’m feeling a little
light-headed from the fumes. Maybe that’s why, brushing the sweaty hair off my
forehead, I call, “Hey, Alex?”

There’s a
sudden blaring of static from the half-assembled television system, followed by
a muttered stream of curses, then, “What’s up, man?”

“You think
it’s going to be weird for you, living with Ben like this?” I ask. There’s a
brief pause, then Alex appears in the doorway.

“Why?” he
asks. “Because I’m in love with him?”

I nod. “Yeah.
And because he’s… not yours.”

Alex
shrugs. “I’m pretty used to it by now. The kid’s been the man of my dreams
since before I was even okay with the idea of having a ‘man of my dreams.’ But it’s never been like that for him,
and I know it. Between catching glimpses of hickies and claw marks down his
back, courtesy of that asshole, Ethan, and washing the sex-sheets in my own
guest room after he and Garen first slept together last year, and, you know,
pretty much four months of watching you two just fall harder and harder for
each other…”

I feel a
twist of guilt in my gut. I knew.
Since April, since the day he started sulking in the tuxedo shop, I knew
something was going on. And I shouldn’t have thrown it in his face. “I’m sorry.”

Alex,
however, simply shrugs. “I’m used to it. And honestly, I stopped lying to
myself ages ago. Ben and I will never happen. It sucks, and I wish things were
different, but whatever. I’m in the friend zone.”

He’s saying
it’s okay, but it’s so clearly not. In what might be the worst attempt at
cheering someone up ever, I say quickly, “On the bright side, not having a shot
with Ben means you have the chance to date James Goldwyn, who is… probably the
closest a man can get to being a god without being crucified.”

Alex laughs
a little at that, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor, like
that’ll make him stop blushing. “Yeah, Jamie’s cool.”

“Jamie?”

Another
shrug. “It’s what he asked me to call him. He said that’s the name all his
friends use for him.”

I don’t
point out that I went to Patton to get James, that I met his friends, and not a
single one called him anything but James. I don’t point out that only Garen calls
him Jamie. “How serious are you guys? Like, has he met your family?”

“No, we’re
not… I mean, he’s not my boyfriend, or whatever. We’ve hung out, we’ve hooked
up, but we’re not together. I told you that. And he’s sure as hell not meeting
my family. My dad would kill me if he knew I’d even kissed another boy, let
alone fucked one, and my mom…” He falters and takes a short step backward, as
if to flee to the comfort and solitude of the living room.

“I know,” I
say softly. “I heard she uh, passed away a few years ago.”

“My mom’s
not dead. Not that I know of, anyway,” Alex says shortly. “Look, we’re going to
have this conversation once, and then we’re never going to talk about it again.
Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I
say immediately.

He crosses
his arms and leans against the doorframe. “My parents are disasters. My father
is a drunk, my mother was a heroin junkie. They had a violent and volatile
marriage—always screaming that the other had to get clean or sober up, while
simultaneously denying their own problems. Then, when I was about ten, maybe nine,
my mom bailed. I haven’t seen her since. I don’t even… I mean, my mom could be dead, and I don’t even know. I don’t
think I’ll ever know.”

I’m not
sure what to say, so I stand up, cross the kitchen, and loop an arm around his
neck, dragging him forward into an incredibly awkward hug. He must need it,
though, because he reaches around to clutch the back of my t-shirt with both
hands. “I-I’m sorry, god, I’m such a little bitch. I just, I don’t talk about
her, ever. Ben and Jer and Mason all knew me back when it happened, so I never
had to really tell them everything, because they saw it in action, but my dad
won’t talk about her, I don’t talk
about her.”

The ache of
his semi-permanent silence hits me harder than I expect, because I know what it
feels like. I know how it must have been killing him not to talk about it, even
if actually saying the words might have killed him faster, because that’s the
story of my life, the story of my self-injury,
the story of my overdose, the story of my time in the institution. I can’t talk
about it, but I can’t not talk about
it. “I get it, Alex. Really.”

“It’s too
big, it’s too much to go into for someone who I barely know. So I’m sure as
hell not going to tell James. By the time I’m even willing to mention her, he’ll
probably have found someone else to screw around with. That’s how he is, you
know?”

I can’t
help but laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Out in the
foyer, the front door clicks open and Ben’s voice drifts in. “Hey, Al. I think
we’re going to have to become vegans. The closest grocery store is a healthy,
organic, hippie-infested—” He stops talking as he rounds the corner and catches
sight of me.

Alex
extracts himself from my arms and edges around Ben, muttering, “I can go get
the rest of the stuff out of your car.”

“You didn’t
tell me you were inviting him over,” Ben says, setting the two bags he’s
carrying down on the counter.

From the
foyer, Alex clears his throat. “I could say the same to you, dude.” He drops
his voice to a low murmur, and for a moment, I wonder who he’s talking to.
Then, Ben steps forward and wraps his hand around my wrist.

“I didn’t
realize you were going to be coming over to help us set stuff up, or else I
wouldn’t have—”

“Shit’s
about to get awkward,” Alex breathes, returning to the kitchen with another two
bags of groceries. I stare at the doorway, waiting, waiting, waiting…

When Garen
rounds the corner with the last few bags of groceries, I’m not even that
surprised. I knew his sixty-day rehab adventure would be ending any day now, but
it’s still a little strange to find myself staring at him in the middle of the
new apartment, especially since he looks… different. Healthier, bigger, like he
looked when I first met him. His hair is flat-ironed and spiked – as I’ve
always thought it should be – and he
is dressed in typical Garen apparel; plain green t-shirt, dark denim jeans, and
his combat boots, still missing their laces. I’m a little surprised to see that
his lip is still pierced on the right side, as if he left rehab and went right
out to get it re-pierced. Just like the day I visited him in rehab, he doesn’t
meet my eyes for a while, choosing instead to head directly to the counter to
set down the bags. After one, two, three minutes of awkward silence, he finally
spins to face me and smiles, almost too brightly. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“Uh, not
too much. How ‘bout you? When’d you leave the LRC?” I ask.

“I was released
a couple of hours ago. My dad picked me up and brought me home to the new
house, up on Longman Road. Then Ben called and asked if I wanted to come, you
know, hang out, help them move, all that stuff. I didn’t realize you’d be here,
or I would’ve said no.” I make a face, and he laughs a little. “Not because I
don’t want to see you. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Stop being
idiots, all three of you!” Alex bursts out. “Look, Ben, you and I live
together. You don’t have to ask my permission to invite somebody over, and I
don’t have to ask yours before I do the same. Garen, everybody knows you fucked
up, okay? It’s not like we’re all surprised
that you just got out of rehab. But that doesn’t mean you need to act all
apologetic every time you come around, because seriously, we’re over it. And if
any of us aren’t over it, we don’t
have to interact with you. Travis, if you’re going to keep hanging out with Ben
and I, you should be prepared to hang with Garen. He’s been our friend for
almost a year now, and I’m…” He hesitates, glancing at Garen, and I can already
hear the words he won’t say. I’m with his
best friend.

I nod sharply, just once to show
him that he doesn’t need to say it. “Got it. Fine with me.”

“Great.
Now, sit your punk-ass back on that floor and finish putting my dishes away. Garen,
can you help me hook up the TV? There are about sixty wires, and I’m close to
hanging myself with one of them,” Alex says, leading Garen back out into the
hallway and down to the living room.

Ben
immediately turns towards me again and steps forward, maybe closer than he
should. I can’t help but remember that the last time saw him, he was kissing me goodbye. “I really
am sorry. I wasn’t trying to cause problems for anyone.”

“Shut up,”
I say. “Like Alex said, it’s fine. We’ll all deal, everything will work itself
out. Do you want help putting away the groceries?”

He shakes
his head, and we both get to work on our respective tasks. Within twenty
minutes, we are both finished, and Ben sinks down onto the floor next to me. “Want
something to drink?”

“Sure,” I
say, dragging my sleeve across my forehead. They must not have bothered to put
in the air conditioner yet, because the apartment is boiling.

“I don’t
care, I’ll take whatever’s closest to the front,” I say. He grabs something at
random – a bottle of Corona – and stretches a little further to grab himself a
bottle of Snapple. It feels incredibly strange to be sprawled on the floor of
my ex-boyfriend’s apartment, drinking a beer in the middle of the afternoon. “You
excited to start college soon?”

Ben snorts.
“More like apprehensive. I mean, have you walked around this city? We’re about
ten minutes away from the Yale campus, and the people walking around there are…
I don’t know. I can already tell that they’re going to all think they’re better
than me, and they’re probably going to be right.”

I elbow
him. “No, they won’t be. Shut up. You’re amazing.”

“You glad
to finally be a senior over at Lakewood?” he asks, ignoring my comment.

I shake my head. “Honesty, it feels like
starting over. Corey’s the only guy in my grade who I still talk to. Well, I
guess Garen counts too, if he goes back. But I’m a completely different person
than who I was a year ago, and I’m not sure how to process that.”

Ben shifts
around so that he is sitting in front of me, facing me, our knees touching. “Would
you take it all back if you could?”

“No,” I
say, and he kisses me. Of course he does. My life is a trainwreck, and none of
the guys I know can keep it in their pants, and everyone in this apartment has
made out with everyone else in this apartment – except Alex and Garen, but fuck
if I know what they’re doing in the next room. The kiss is brief, and there isn’t
any heat behind it; I wonder if this is what it’s like when he kisses Alex, a
simple, supposedly meaningless kiss between good friends. He stands and offers
me a hand up, which I accept. We enter the living room just as the television
set-up is being finalized. Alex is sitting on the couch with his feet propped
up on the coffee table, and Garen is half-wedged behind the television. When it
flickers to life and a soap opera starts playing out on the screen, he twists
his way to freedom and throws his hands up in the air, proclaiming, “Suck it,
dudes.”

“They have,”
Alex points out. I flop down on the couch next to him, and he steals my beer
and takes a swig. That continues for a few minutes, the bottle passing back and
forth between us, until I finally glance up at Garen. He is standing stock
still, his eyes locked on the bottle in my hand, his head cocked to the side. Just
as I’m about to get up and throw it out, if only to stop him from staring at it
with that expression on his face, he turns and heads swiftly towards the
kitchen.

“Ben, you
mind if I have one of your Snapples?” he asks.

“Not at
all,” Ben replies, dropping down onto the couch on Alex’s other side. When
Garen returns, he snags the remote off the coffee table and sprawls out
lengthwise across all of our laps.

“Jesus,
Gare, you trying to crush my nuts
with your skull?” I demand, shifting a little under him. He ignores me and
starts flipping through the channels, finally settling on VH1’s Behind the
Music.

I expect us
to all fall into silence, but then Garen mutes the television and says, “So, my
dad wants to have some cook-out thing. I guess it’s to welcome me back from
LRC, but um… yeah. It’s tomorrow afternoon, around four. None of you have to
come, if you don’t want, but I can give you the address, just in case.” His
eyes are focused on the Snapple bottle cap, which he has removed and is pressing
the safety seal of over and over to create a tiny clicking noise.

“Dunno,”
Garen says with a shrug. “Dad said I should invite Jeremy and Mason, but I don’t
really know if I want to, honestly. Neither of them bothered to visit me while
I was in rehab, so I doubt they care that much now that I’m out. But Jamie flew
back up from Georgia this week to move into his new place in Manhattan anyway,
so he’s going to take the train down for the day. And I also invited Andrew,
Rob, and Drew. You guys can bring whoever you want, too.”

“Would you
mind if I brought my sister?” I ask slowly. “I think she’d like to see you
again.”

“Of course
she can come. Last time she saw me, I was trying to shoot myself in the face,
so I’d like to replace that last impression, if possible,” Garen replies.

Out of the
corner of my eye, I see Alex slip his phone out of his pocket, check his text
message inbox, and tap out a reply to one. When he catches me staring at him,
he rolls his eyes and tips it so I can see. he’s
@ my new apartment right now, just invited me. can’t wait 2 see u 2, jamie.
I snort, and whisper, as softly as I can, “‘Not together,’ yeah fucking right.”

“I hate
you, Travis, get off my couch,” Alex orders.

“We’re not
on your couch. We’re on Ben’s couch,” Garen says. “What’s going on? What are
you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,”
I say, trying to smother a grin as Alex digs his elbow back into my side. “Listen,
do you want us to bring anything tomorrow?”

“A few handles
of liquor and a brick of cocaine,” Garen says. Ben punches him hard in the
thigh, and Garen just grins at him. “What, too soon?”

“I think it
will always be too soon,” Ben grumbles.
But for the first time in ages, Garen looks to be actually okay.

I brush his
hair off his forehead, steal a sip of his Snapple, and unmute the television. “Sorry,
Garen. I’m not sure you can have a post-rehab party and actually attempt to
justify the presence of the substances you’ve supposedly stopped abusing.”

Garen reaches
back to tangle his fingers with mine on the arm of the couch and hums. “Eh,
well, can’t have everything.”